


Not Another Mile Marker

by throwupsparkles



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Touring, the lightest touch of angst, warped2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: Warped 2020 Prompt: backstage blow jobMikey sees Frank drop to his knees next to Gerard and lean his head into his stomach and Mikey just stares. He blames the heat, that’s all it is. That’s why his stomach is turning, round and round to this sour state. Because he has no reason to feel jealous right now. Has no right to wish it was his fingers sliding through Frank’s sweat drenched hair.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Mikey Way
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61
Collections: Warped 2020





	Not Another Mile Marker

Mikey clenches his jaw and twists his body to the side so that he’s not in direct eyesight of his brother shoving his hand down Frank’s shirt. 

Living on the road with four other guys means that Mikey sees some shit, but it doesn’t mean he welcomes the sight--especially when it involves Gerard. And they’ve all been pretty handsy in some shape or form. Mikey sprawls out across Ray and Bob when they’re in the lounge playing Donkey Kong, Frank sits in Gerard’s lap during interviews, Mikey jumps on Bob’s back for piggyback rides, and Gerard falls asleep against Ray during soundchecks. It’s sorta what they do. 

But Frank and Gerard have turned that up to like ten thousand or something on this tour. And Mikey’s trying to just chalk it up to the summer heat, he knows that everyone sorta loses their mind on Warped Tour. Or, he’s heard the stories. This is actually their first time on the tour and it’s supposed to mean something, right? It’s supposed to mean that they’ve made it or something. 

Mostly Mikey just feels like he’s gone to some fucked up summer camp where the sun never dies and the beer never stops flowing. A dangerous combination. Especially for a band with a newly sober lead singer. 

“I’m fine,” Gerard had whispered, rolling his eyes and pretending to be more focused on his sketchbook than the conversation. 

“It’s ok if you’re not,” Mikey had reminded him, because sometimes Gerard forgot. Sometimes it felt like Gerard thought he had to be this leader that Mikey never asked for. That none of them asked for, they just wanted to make music together as friends. Mikey sometimes wonders when it had spiraled so out of control. How did he go from holding a clunky bass in his parent’s basement to playing actual songs on stages across the country? When did his brother stop being his savior and turned into someone needing saving?

Gerard had paused and Mikey watched his expression fall for a moment, before it twisted into something between despair and relief and Mikey’s still learning how the two of those things can exist together. “Thanks, Mikes.”

So maybe it’s the combination of the heat, and maybe it’s also because Gerard still wants to feel free on stage. Wants to seem reckless with a safety net because Frank would never hurt him. Mikey’s never met anyone as fiercely protective as Frank before. 

Mikey sees Frank drop to his knees next to Gerard and lean his head into his stomach and Mikey just stares. He blames the heat, that’s all it is. That’s why his stomach is turning, round and round to this sour state. Because he has no reason to feel jealous right now. Has no right to wish it was his fingers sliding through Frank’s sweat drenched hair.

The song is over before Mikey finds his barings again and he feels Ray’s stare on him, and he knows he totally stopped playing towards the end there. The fans don’t notice, they’re screaming and moshing, drunk off booze and sunshine. But Gerard turns and tilts his head to the side like he’s asking _are you ok?_ And Mikey just squares his shoulders and nods tightly, ignoring Frank’s questioning gaze.

But it doesn’t go away. 

That night when the sun sets and the grounds cool to a bearable existence, Mikey’s brain still hasn’t stopped melting. 

That’s the only way to explain why his eyes keep following Frank everywhere he goes that night. He hops from band to band, always able to make friends with anyone like he’s got some secret language. And Mikey knows he’s got no room to talk, he’s always been the more sociable one of their band despite his rigid stance on stage. But he doesn’t feel like speaking tonight, doesn’t think he can open his mouth without screaming out of frustration. 

He’s not even sure what he’s all worked up about. It almost reminds him of being a teenager again where he’s angry for no reason. He laughs a little at himself, because fuck does moping in bed with Joy Division on repeat sound good right now. 

Gerard slides next to where Mikey is sitting on the curb by their bus. Gerard’s practically glued to the bus this tour, scared to wander too far off and be tempted by all the booze and unfavorable temptations the grounds have to offer. He knows that Gerard’s a little conflicted, and Mikey can see why. There’s already a low hum amongst the rest of the bands that Gerard thinks he’s too good for them. So Mikey sticks close to Gerard lately, to give him some support but also so he doesn’t deck someone in the teeth for talking shit on his brother. 

“Hey,” Gerard says, and it sounds more like _what’s going on?_

Mikey shrugs. “Hey.”

Gerard sips at his soda and sniffles loudly just to make noise. He’s never been great at silence, especially when he’s worked up over Mikey. And he feels guilty, ok? Mikey knows that it’s not cool to worry Gerard, especially over something stupid, something he doesn’t even know what it is. He just feels--

“Mikey--”

“--I miss home,” Mikey hears himself say and Gerard’s forehead creases with distress, so he hurries to say, “or a version of home, you know?”

Gerard takes it in, sets his soda down to light a cigarette then hums like he’s come to an understanding. “I miss mom’s overly cheesy casseroles.”

Mikey snorts and steals Gerard’s cigarette to take a drag. 

“That’s not really it, is it?” Gerard asks after a while, taking his cigarette back. 

“I don’t know what it is,” Mikey admits, staring off past the parking lot where Ray is talking to the guys from Thursday with his arms flailing around in the way he always does when he gets going about guitar tech shit. Bob’s leaning against a van looking stoic as ever with a beer in his hand and he keeps looking over at Gerard like he’s afraid he’s upsetting him. And then there’s Frank. Frank who is all smiles and loose limbs, who always floats after getting off stage like he’s had the best orgasm of his life.

“Will you let me know when you figure it out?” 

Mikey looks back at Gerard, at where the bullet proof vest he wore on stage today has left marks on his collarbone and how his nose is pink from the sun. And then he takes in his eyes, how they’re clear and free from the haze of extra chemicals. Where they’re slightly hooded under worried eyebrows, but Mikey can see past it and find the kid that used to draw Mikey as a hero. As invincible and able to withstand anything. 

“Yeah,” he tells him, because Gerard’s always made him feel brave. 

Only Mikey is doing everything in his power to not figure it out, because he’s pretty sure it has something to do with Frank and he’s just not ready to open that can of worms. 

Which is pretty tough shit because the way that Mikey keeps skirting around Frank is starting to grant him questioning stares from the guys. 

It started when Frank climbed into his lap during a long stretch across Illinois. Gerard and Mikey had _The Twilight Zone_ on and Frank squealed in delight before making himself at home in Mikey’s personal space. Which would have been fine, it’s not the first time Frank’s climbed into his lap instead of sitting on the bench nestled into the lounge. The problem is that Mikey can’t get the image of Frank on his knees out of his mind. Sweaty and rosy cheeked out of his mind. With his mouth open and-- 

“What the fuck, Mikeyway?” Frank had yelped when Mikey dumped him onto the floor of the lounge. Gerard looked up from where he was drawing and laughed, chalking it up to them just fucking around but the wild look in Frank’s eyes told Mikey that he didn’t understand what was going on. 

And then there was the time that Frank had waltzed around after a show with a bag full of water to shower with, wearing his swimming trunks hung low below his hips. Mikey had froze in front of the bus with his fingers biting into the aluminum of his Diet Coke and did not stare at the birds kissing Frank’s hips--no he did not, thank you very much. 

The kicker though was when Frank bounced over to him during their set in Nebraska and Mikey _ran_. Like he’s pretty sure Ray had a mini heart attack when Mikey was suddenly on his side of the stage and Gerard stopped singing for a second before spitting out the final lyrics and coming over to him. Mikey shook his head and chanced a look at Frank who was staring hard at the ground. 

“What did I do?” Frank asks later when they’re on the road again. 

Mikey’s always loved being on the road. Sometimes he misses the van and how he used to be able to feel the tires spin if he pressed his cheek to the floor. Loved how he could _feel_ the band taking him to places outside of Jersey that he thought he’d never get to see. But now he feels like a prisoner to it, feels like he’s going to crack and tumble out onto the asphalt and become nothing but another mile marker to nowhere. 

“Just tell me what I did wrong so I can apologize,” Frank says, his voice on the edge of hysteria. Because losing a friend was always next to dying to Frank. Mikey remembers how hard he took Matt getting kicked out of the band, how his knuckles were perpetually bloody those weeks after Matt wrecked their practice space. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mikey tells him, keeping his temple against the glass of the window. It’s still warm from sitting out in the parking lot at Warped all day. He still sees smears of the tequila someone shot at them with water guns this afternoon. 

He feels Frank sit next to him, keeping distance when usually he would be pressed up against him. And it doesn’t matter how much space is between them, Mikey can feel the pull in his muscles. Feels his hands twitch to grab Frank and for his legs to clamp around his waist. 

And it’s so fucking weird. 

It's not like he’s never thought that Frank was attractive. He’s just never seen Frank that way, and he’s not sure if it’s the spell that Warped has over everyone that’s making Mikey’s blood boil or if it's the fact that he’s hanging back and being more observant with what happened to Gerard. 

Because he still hasn’t forgiven himself for not noticing Gerard spiraling. Doesn’t understand how he missed Gerard’s few beers to loosen up before a show turned into doing an eight ball at a Killer’s concert. He doesn’t understand how he didn’t notice that Gerard’s suitcase was empty when they boarded the plane to Japan or how it fucking took him seeing his brother slumped over a goddamn trash can to realize something was fucked. That--

“Whoa, whoa,” Frank whispers, hooking his arm around Mikey’s neck and bringing him flushed against him. “Mikey, hey.”

Mikey knows he’s not crying, knows he hasn’t cracked and let his defenses fall. His face still feels as blank as ever, he’s perfected that carefully placed look of apathy to deter anyone from getting closer than he wants. But here’s Frank, closing the distance and holding on tight. 

And Mikey stiffens, because he doesn’t know what Frank’s seen. Doesn’t understand how he knows that this is exactly what he needs right now. But then Frank brings his other arm around Mikey to squeeze his hips into Frank’s stomach and Mikey relaxes into the embrace. 

He hasn’t cried since Elena died, but he thinks he could now if he let that final piece fall from an invisible fracture in his heart. He doesn’t, but for the first time in a long time he feels like he can and it makes his next breath escape his lips raggedly. 

Frank hugs him closer. 

He sorta thought that cracking in front of Frank would put everything back to order. He got it out of his system, and, well, it was sorta nice to have Frank hold him like that. But it should be over with, right? He can move on and maybe hook up with someone from tonight’s party after the shows. 

But it’s fucking Warped Tour and things have a funny way of getting twisted into something Mikey’s never expected. 

Mikey’s watching Frank lick down Gerard’s throat and spin away, falling down to his knees and scream out the lyrics even though it’s lost under the roar of the crowd and Gerard’s commanding voice. 

Mikey hears him though. Hears the desperation that rings the same tune as Mikey’s. 

He can’t stop watching him during shows now. It used to just be out of self-preservation, making sure to walk back towards Bob when Frank started swinging Pansy around, but now it’s something else entirely. 

At first he thought it was like a car crash. He thought watching Frank was the same as finding fascination in destruction, in tragedy and then thinking it was brokeningly beautiful. Now it’s hypnotic, and Mikey’s not sure he can keep blaming the heat or the frenzy that the summer seems to possess. 

Frank catches him looking and smirks, making Mikey’s cheeks flush and he turns his back to Frank and the crowd, watching Bob who doesn’t make a big deal about it. He’s always good about making it seem like he’s not paying attention, and that’s exactly what Mikey needs right now. He needs to not be on a stage where everyone can see him losing his mind over Frank crawling over the stage. He needs to not be _jealous_ of the way Gerard just wraps his hand around Frank’s throat like it’s no big deal. Like Frank’s fire doesn’t fucking scorch him. 

And then finally, _finally_ , the set ends and Mikey doesn’t even turn back towards the crowd, he just walks off. 

He’s handing his bass off to a tech when he feels strong hands on his forearms, halting him from going down the stairs. And then he’s being turned and Frank is kissing him. 

Mikey’s been kissed a lot. So much so that he doesn’t really care for it anymore, a kiss is just a kiss. Except when he’s kissing Frank. 

Because it’s hotter than Warped Tour’s sun, it gets him drunker than any keg beer he’d find in the parking lots, makes him feel like his heart is pounding faster than any guitar riff can send him. 

He feels himself being pulled, but Mikey doesn’t pay attention where he’s going. Doesn’t pay any mind to the fact that Gerard is whining, “did not need to see that” or that Ray is chuckling and then he doesn’t hear anything but Frank’s ragged breath mixing with his own. 

Frank’s pulling away and Mikey opens his eyes, sees that they’re backstage and thank fuck they were on somewhat of a bigger stage to even have a backstage. Frank’s pulling at Mikey’s tight shirt, grinning to himself like he finds the whole thing amusing. But not in a taunting way, just in the way that Frank’s always found life kinda funny. Mikey’s starting to wonder how he’s managed to get himself in this situation when Frank cups Mikey’s cheek, gentler than Mikey would expect, and then presses his lips softly against Mikeys. So feather light he barely feels Frank’s lip ring scrape his chapped lips. 

Frank kisses him slowly, like this was supposed to be their first kiss all along, and then he tips Mikey’s head to the side and coaxes him to open his mouth. Mikey feels unsure, for the first time with something like this, Mikey feels hesitant. Frank’s tongue tastes the roof of Mikey’s mouth, licks at his teeth and Mikey laughs a little and Frank makes an affectionate sound in the back of his throat and then really starts to kiss him. 

Mikey’s fingers thread through Frank’s hair and he tugs a little, feeling them slide against the sweat that’s gathered there. He feels like he’s running out of air, but he can’t get himself to let Frank go. He stumbles a little and Frank pushes him back until his back hits the metal brackets that're holding the stage together. He really fucking hopes that the cloth hanging behind them is thick enough to avert any questioning looks.

Frank’s mouth never leaves Mikey, but it trails down his jaw and then latches onto that spot right under Mikey’s ear and he fucking keens, bucking his hips against Frank’s and tugging him closer. 

“Wanted you,” Frank breathes, pulling the collar of Mikey’s shirt to the side so he can lick a thick stripe across his collarbone. 

Mikey’s not sure he can talk right now, and he’s glad that Frank doesn’t seem to be asking that of him. He slides his hands up Mikey’s shirt, stroking up where Mikey gets self-conscious about his ribs poking at his skin there. Frank’s fingertips tickle him there until his tense shoulders loosen and he huffs a laugh before continuing up to thumb over his nipples, teases them with his bitten down nails and grins when Mikey whines again. 

“So needy,” Frank comments softly, nipping at his lip. 

Mikey’s hands finally leave Frank’s greasy strands and wrap around Frank’s buckle, getting frustrated with the latch and he doesn’t appreciate how Frank just laughs and nips at his jaw. Finally, he gets it undone and he unbuttons Frank’s jeans. 

His fingers curl down and brush over the slightly damp cotton boxer briefs that Frank’s got on. Frank groans again and it’s Mikey’s turn to grin, “Who’s needy?”

“Fuck,” Frank breathes and it’s all the encouragement Mikey needs to drop to his knees and pull Frank’s jeans and briefs down. Frank steadys himself with a hand in Mikey’s hair and fuck, he hopes Frank pulls hard when things really get going. 

He presses searing, open mouthed kisses against the tops of Frank’s thighs and it shouldn’t get him going as much as it does to see Frank’s stupid tanlines. He licks where his hip juts out and then presses his nose against the coarse hair that starts at Frank’s stomach. 

Frank makes a pleading noise, but he doesn’t say anything and Mikey vibrates when he hears the next band take the stage. Hears the roar of the crowd and he’s never really gotten turned on by it before, but the heaviness of the guitars, the thudding beat of the bass and the thunderous drums erupt something so instinctual in Mikey that he doesn’t even think about it before he’s taking Frank’s cock in his mouth. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t tongue at the head, just swallows him down and hums when Frank’s shout gets drowned out by the music and crowd. 

Mikey loves sucking cock. Loves the way it just turns his brain off and he focuses on nothing but the sounds, the taste, the tug of fingers in his hair. But this is _Frank_ , and it’s like he can’t turn his mind off to save his life. Can’t stop thinking that the weight on his tongue is from his best friend, the taste in the back of his throat is from the guy he’s falling head over heels for. Frank tugs on Mikey’s hair, hard just like Mikey craved and it makes him groan around Frank and Frank’s hips stutter and , “Mikeyway, you better not make me come so soon. I’m not fucking down wi-with you, _fuck_.”

Mikey sees it as a personal challenge and slips his other hand up to where his mouth sinks lower and lower on Frank’s cock. He lines his fingers up with the length of Frank and slides his lips over his fingers, coating them in the sweet mix of saliva and Frank’s precome. He slides the fingers down, cupping Frank’s balls and rolling the weight in between his fingertips before sliding back and circling around his entrance. 

“Mikey,” Frank chokes out, and Mikey can tell he’s close, fuck he’s probably not going to get to stretch him open the way he wants before Frank loses it. 

Later, he thinks with a smile around the head of Frank’s cock. He looks up through his eyelashes and Frank’s looking at him like he’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Mikey can feel the wetness in the corners of his eyes from the strain, feels his lashes thick and heavy, his mouth pulled at the corners and his jaw aching. His knees are going to have scrapes on them and his hair is probably beyond repair. 

This is what he needed. This is what he didn’t know he had been missing out on. This used and rubbed raw feeling of being loved. And Mikey knows it’s not like that, at least not yet. But Warped Tour always tends to blur the lines when the days melt into each other and everyone becomes one extension of another. 

Mikey pulls up to suck hard on the head of Frank’s cock just as he slides two spit slicked fingers inside him and then Frank’s coming. 

He moans and holds the hot, pulsing liquid in his mouth, let’s it coat his tongue and moans as he feels Frank clamp down around his fingers, feels him spasming and fuck, if it doesn’t seem like it’s in time with the music playing on stage. 

Frank drops to his knees, bones slack and mouth still agape as he clumsily undoes Mikey’s skin tight girl jeans. Mikey grabs his shirt and hauls him in for a kiss, tilting him back so that Mikey can open his mouth and let the come slide off his tongue and into Frank’s mouth. Frank moans wantonly, like he’s ready to go again and tugs at Mikey’s jeans. Mikey lays back and lifts his hips up and they laugh a little drunkenly at how fucking hard it is to get the denim to slide over Mikey’s hips, but then he’s free and Frank’s wrapping his calloused fingers over his cock. 

Mikey’s head slams against the ground as he arches up and swears, his voice getting caught in his throat. He’s never been that impressed by a handjob, but fuck maybe it matters who’s hand it belongs to. 

Frank leans down and kisses him dirty, lazily and still slack from his own orgasm. He’s slow, slipping his salty tasting tongue into Mikey's mouth and thrusting it down his throat in the same maddening rhythm he’s jacking Mikey. Mikey feels completely consumed, feels like he’s falling down a black hole that’s all Frank, all pleasure, and all theirs. 

His orgasm hits him before he even notices the signs, just rips through him and leaves him panting against Frank’s mouth. Frank strokes him through it, brings his other hand to smooth Mikey’s hairsprayed hair off his forehead and kisses him gently there. It’s so tender, so sweet after what they’ve just done and his breath stutters, making Frank remove his hand. 

Frank rests his forehead against Mikey’s and breathes, “Fucking finally.”

Mikey grins. “Finally?”

Frank caresses his cheek, “I’ve been waiting for you all summer.”

“I--”

“Jesus Fuck,” Mikey hears and Frank leans over Mikey to cover him up. Mikey can see Ray over Frank’s shoulder. “Um, Gerard’s worked on a song and...Mikey can you fucking pull up your pants?”

Mikey laughs, loud and full of life. Of love and friendship, music and the stickiness of the summer heat that seems to always throw everything into a frenzy. But Mikey supposes it wouldn’t be Warped Tour without it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited for this challenge! Thanks to all the great writers who signed up. If you're reading this, please go check out everyone's work in the Warped 2020 collection!


End file.
